


Playing Easy

by vvinterhavvk



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Falsettos AU, M/M, an AU that no one asked for, based off of whizzer going down from in trousers with references to falsettos, disclaimer: theyre shitty people, fyi theyre like 30, ive been affectionately calling this 'the blowjob fic', not between reddie dont worry about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:54:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvinterhavvk/pseuds/vvinterhavvk
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak has perfected the art of getting Richie Tozier to shut up.





	Playing Easy

**Author's Note:**

> some quick notes:
> 
> this is based on the musical 'in trousers', with references to its counterpart, 'falsettos'. it is specifically based on the song 'whizzer going down', which is about a blowjob. thats all you gotta know.
> 
> the characters that richie and eddie are based on, marvin and whizzer, are not particularly loving individuals. i tried my best to accurately display that relationship without making it outright abusive, which it can be sometimes, but i couldn't resist throwing in some fluff in there.
> 
> if this fic at all entertains you PLEASE check out the musicals its based on. they are SO GOOD and very underrated. andrew rannells is my dad

It is 1979, and Richie Tozier stands in front of the bar, thinking. 

While gay bars are not hard to come by in New York City, it is choosing the right one that is on his mind. He has no idea what lies behind the doors of a shotty place called  _ The Manhole,  _ or if he should trust the drinks at  _ The Three Legged Cowboy _ , which advertises a scantily clad cowboy in flashing neon lights. He briefly considers  _ Swingin’ Richards  _ just because the name makes him laugh, but the only entrance was through a door in an alleyway where two homeless men were sleeping behind some trash cans, so Richie shot that one down too. The one he stands in front of now is called  _ Woody’s _ , and seems perfectly normal, depending on what is considered  _ normal _ for a gay bar. Richie can hear music coming from behind the double doors, and every once in a while, when the door opens, voices and bright lights and the smell of booze slip out. And while twenty minutes is a lot of time to be thinking about something as trivial as finding the perfect bar, Richie stays in the same spot, staring up at the same flickering letters, as if waiting for a sign from God to tell him to turn around, return to his home, where his wife is surely waiting for him in their bed, reading a book or chewing her nails or on the phone with her mother, complaining about him.

_ Just go in,  _ the voice in his head tells him,  _ you’re wasting time _ .

The  _ y  _ in Woody flickers, as if God is asking him  _ why? _

Richie almost turns around right then and there, ready to go somewhere different. Or perhaps, just home. 

But before he can scurry away, someone is standing next to him, tilting their head and staring at the sign, exactly like Richie is. Richie looks over, or rather,  _ down _ , at the person who has joined him.

The man next to him is about Richie’s age, maybe even a little younger, with neat, wavy hair that falls over his forehead. He is dressed impeccably, Richie notices, even for a cold November night; in a pink button-up that is tucked into dark high-waisted jeans. The man’s arms are crossed and his chin is turned up, brown eyes refusing to connect with Richie’s. His mouth is turned up in a slight smirk.

He seems to notice that Richie has noticed him. “The only people who stand outside of gay bars staring at the sign are either people who think they might be gay or guys who are about to do some real mean things.”

Richie stares at the man, both confused and smitten. He manages a laugh, his breaths coming out in white fog.

The guy finally looks to Richie, his face cast in pink light through the combination of the setting sun and the neon sign above them. Once again Richie is hit by how handsome he is, like his brain has finally made up its mind. The guy smiles wider, his eyelids lowering and hip cocking. Man, Richie is  _ so _ gone.

“How about I buy you a drink and we can find out?” The man says, grabbing Richie’s arm and pulling him through the doors, making Richie’s decision for him.

The two men are swallowed by ABBA and lights, moving through crowds of men dressed in drags and women pressing in close to each other, their hands on each others’ hips. Richie feels so overwhelmed, he might faint.

He manages to keep his cool as the mystery man drags him to a bar, which is being tended by a tall, handsome black man, who wears a wide smile directed at Richie’s companion. “Hey, Eddie! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Sliding into a barstool, the man,  _ Eddie _ , waves a dismissive hand. “I had to be careful for a while because some asshole neighbor started snooping around-” he cuts himself of, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m buying this man a drink.”

The bartender looks sympathetic, handing Eddie a glass like he already knows what he likes. He looks over at Richie next, waiting for his order. Richie notices that the bartender is wearing makeup. “A Manhattan, thanks.”

Richie sits as the man turns away without another word. Eddie scoots closer, leaning an arm on the table and gazing at Richie. “Cocktail? You’re definitely gay.”

If he had been taking a drink, Richie would’ve choked.

Eddie keeps staring, seemingly unaffected by Richie’s clear sputtering. “Jesus, you are  _ not  _ comfortable. Look…”

“Richie.”

“Richie,” Eddie confirms, setting a hand on Richie’s shoulder, “you need to loosen up a little.” The bartender sets Richie’s drink down in front of him. He mutters his thanks, picking it up and taking a long drink out of the glass. “Like that,” Eddie laughs, his hand falling away. Richie feels cold.

The drink is good, and it must show on his face, because Eddie says, “Mike makes the best drinks in town.”

“Oh please, Eddie flatters me. There are hundreds of other bartenders in the city.”

Eddie motions with his drink at Mike. “And you, sir, are the best.”

Mike just laughs, and it is a nice sound, RIchie thinks, melodic and pretty, just like the glitter on his eyes.

Richie takes another drink.

Someone further down the bar calls for Mike, leaving Richie and Eddie alone with their drinks.

“So,  _ Richie _ , what brings you to our humble corner of town?”

Richie thinks. And thinks.

“I don’t know,” says Richie, honestly. “Figuring things out, I guess.”

One of Eddie’s eyebrows raises. He lifts his drink in a toast. “To figuring things out.”

A laugh forces its way out of Richie’s mouth. “To figuring things out,” he repeats, lifting up his own drink to clink with Eddies. The two men drink, maintaining eye contact over their glasses. Here, where the conversation has lulled, Richie takes a moment to look over Eddie once more. The shirt he is wearing fits tight across his chest, the sleeves are rolled up to expose his biceps, and the buttons are done all the way up to his throat. He looks different in the lights of the club, more mischievous, less handsome, more sexy.

Eddie is aware that Richie is checking him out, his smug smile widening around his drink. “So, this your first time in a gay club?”

Richie nods, unable to look away from Eddie’s fingers on the counter, which linger dangerously close to Richie’s own. “Yes.” Richie wonders how honest he should be to the man that he has just met. “I, uh. Wanted to get away from my family.”

The hand that was itching towards Richie’s balls up into a fist, which is the only show that Eddie’s emotion has changed. His eyes remain half-lidded and his mouth is still quirked up. “I see.” That’s all that Eddie says on the subject, finishing his drink and setting it back onto the bar, a little more aggressively than he needs to. Eddie launches into the full story of his homophobic neighbor, then after a few more drinks, tells Richie that he is going to the bathroom.

After he says so, Eddie gives Richie a  _ look _ , then disappears into the crowd.

A few seconds pass. Mike the bartender also gives Richie a look.

Richie follows, for some inexplicable reason. He makes his way through the dance floor, that is practically an orgy, people grinding against whoever is closest and kissing the nearest warm body to them. The song that is playing is something Richie doesn’t recognize, something disco that his wife would like.

The thought of his wife almost makes him leave, but he forces her out of his mind and puts Eddie there instead. 

It’s one of those bathrooms that is just one little room, a door with a lock. 

Richie doesn’t even get out a word before Eddie is kissing him, pushing Rich up against the door that he just shut and shoving their lips together unceremoniously. It takes a moment, for Rich to react, to process what is happening, but he responds with enthusiasm.

_ This _ , Richie thinks,  _ this is what I’ve been looking for. _

Eddie is more experienced in every single way, pushing his tongue into Richie’s mouth as his hand palms at the bulge in Richie’s pants. He can’t do much else besides hold the sides of Eddie’s face, unable to think, just kiss the grin that is hiding inside of Eddie’s mouth.

“I have a wife,” Richie mumbles into Eddie’s mouth, and isn’t sure why he does, “and a kid.”

Eddie pulls back, just a little. His expression is what Richie would call  _ unreadable _ , as he has yet to learn what makes Eddie’s skin crawl and his eyes twitch. Richie ignores the look and focuses on his red lips instead.

“So?” Eddie says it like someone would say  _ don’t bring up your family while you’re making out with a guy in a bathroom _ , which, Richie supposes, is a fair enough point.

He is about to launch into the full tale of the Tozier family, because Richie has never been good at shutting up or taking social cues, when Eddie kisses him again, muttering, “whatever. I don’t give a fuck.” Eddie’s mouth moves away from Richie’s, down his chin and to his neck, and would go further probably if Richie wasn’t wearing a shirt, because Eddie gets down onto his knees and reaches inside Richie’s pants.

Richie shuts up, moaning multiple  _ Eddie _ s and  _ oh my God _ s and  _ Jesus fucking Christ _ s as Eddie goes down on him. Eddie is exceptionally good at giving head, which is all Richie can even bear to  _ think _ , far better than his wife or any other woman he had ever been with. All his life he had wanted men. Now he finally had one; in the shitty bathroom of a gay bar.

He comes, with one more strangled moan of Eddie’s name. Eddie pulls away and wipes at his mouth, but before he can say anything, Richie is pulling him up and into another kiss. Eddie doesn’t fight it, just presses his hands to the sides of Richie’s neck. The hands are comforting, like they were meant to be there.  _ Relax, Richie _ , they seem to say.

“Come back to my place,” Eddie says into Richie’s mouth, diving in for another kiss.

All Richie can do is nod, so he does.

(+)

Richie quickly decides that he is in love with Eddie Kaspbrak, but that doesn’t mean much, in the grand scheme of things.

They fight a lot, which he wasn’t expecting. More than Richie and his wife. Richie talks too much, Eddie only thinks about himself. Richie is still with his wife, Eddie sleeps with men who aren’t Richie.

“You’re not even straight,” Eddie will say around a cigarette.

“Monogamy is fun,” Richie will say back, and then they’re off.

Eddie pushes, Richie shoves.

Their fights always end the same way, with Eddie crawling over Richie, or kneeling in front of him, and unbuttoning Richie’s pants.

It’s not a bad arrangement. It keeps them together. It lets them forget about the outside world, about Richie’s wife and Eddie’s long list of lovers. At least they end every fight in each other’s arms, in the safety of Eddie’s bed. 

So they will fight. And Richie will fall even deeper in love. The world will continue to spin.

(-)

Eddie meets Richie’s son on accident.

How often do you run into your lover while shopping at a department store? Not fucking often, Richie figures.

They don’t see each other at first- Richie is busy looking for the aisle that has ties, keeping one eye on the kid so he won’t run off to the toys section, or whatever it is that he’s fixated on at that particular moment. He vaguely recalls his wife mentioning that their son had recently discovered the joys of  _ chess _ , of all things. Just as Richie spots the correct isle, someone bumps into him, a brief flash of a freckled face and familiar smelling cologne. 

It takes a second, but Richie stops and spins around. “Eddie?” says Rich, at the very same time Eddie mutters, “Jesus fucking Christ,” turning slowly to look at his lover and his son.

Eddie looks like he just rolled out of bed, making something in Richie’s stomach crawl, not quite unpleasantly. His hair is fluffier than usual, not done perfectly like he usually wears it, and glasses sit on his face. The high waisted pants are still apart of his look, but the nice button up is replaced by a white t-shirt and sweater.

He looks so  _ cute _ , Richie realizes. He is almost tempted to step forward and start pinching Eddie’s cheeks and press kisses to the wrinkles that would inevitably form on his forehead. Rich doesn’t do that, but a grin does start to creep across his face.

As if reading his mind, Eddie scowls. “Don’t fucking start with me,” then, glancing over at Richie’s son, “shit, can I swear in front of the kid?” It takes Richie a second to understand what Eddie is talking about. 

Oh. The kid. His son.

Richie blinks, looking down at his son, who is glancing back and forth between the two men. Eddie is looking at him with equal parts nervous and pissed off, as if he has never seen an eleven year old kid in his life. He looks about ready to run away, even, his fingers twitching at the hems of the sweater sleeves, one hand reaching up to run through his hair, tousling it even more than he already has. Richie just rolls his eyes, stepping forward and pulling his kid with him, stepping close to Eddie. For a moment, Eddie shoots Richie a look, like  _ what the fuck are you doing _ ? but Richie just smiles at him. “This is a friend from work, Eddie.”

The kid stares up at Eddie, who stares back. “Uh,” says Richie’s nervous lover, “hi.”

“Hello.” Richie’s son holds out a hand, which Eddie timidly shakes.

Later, much later, around three in the morning, both men fresh and showered, Eddie smokes a cigarette, a book in his other hand. Richie watches him, eating something he found in the fridge. It doesn’t taste very good. He says as much, aloud.

“Then don’t eat it,” Eddie says, turning the page and pushing up his glasses with the knuckle of the hand that holds his half burned cig.

Richie takes another bite, just to spite him, then sets the bowl down on the bed. He leans forward, pressing his face into Eddie’s bare neck and a hand on his just as bare thigh. Richie can almost  _ hear  _ the eye-roll as Eddie sets down his book and presses his cigarette into the tray. “You’re going to get food all over the damn bed.”

A kiss is placed at the base of Eddie’s throat, then another where his jaw meets his neck. Richie can feel Eddie tense up underneath him. A laugh bubbles up in Richie’s throat, escaping when Eddie makes a funny noise. “I can’t help it, you just look so cute with those glasses. And your hair all tousled, and that  _ sweater _ -” Richie cuts himself off, his mouth moving up to meet Eddie’s in a kiss. He tastes like toothpaste, and like smoke, as he brushed his teeth right after they showered but gave into the thought of a smoke before bed. 

Eddie hums into the kiss, pulling back an inch. “My head fucking hurts.”

Richie’s mouth moves to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, up his cheekbones and to the crinkles he gets at the corners of his eyes when he’s happy and to his temple, leaving a lingering and almost loving kiss there. He smells distinctly like  _ man _ .

“I swear I would’ve  _ ravaged _ you in that store if we hadn’t been in public and if my kid hadn’t been there-”

Eddie pulls back, his eyes half-lidded and his lips turned up in a smirk. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Reaching up and taking off the other mans’ glasses, setting them on the table next to the ashtray. Eddie squints, adjusting. “We could’ve snuck away, but instead I had to think about you  _ all day  _ in those fucking  _ glasses _ -”

Kissing him, Eddie rolls them over, kissing down his face and licking down Richie’s chest until he reaches where Rich wants him most.

Pleased with himself, Richie lays back and admires the view.

(-)

The fights are trivial.

Eddie isn’t a good cook. Richie likes being cooked for, but complains about the taste.  

Richie talks about his wife. Eddie hates Richie’s wife.

Eddie bites his nails when he’s anxious, which he is most of the time. The sound bugs Richie.

But Richie still calls. Eddie still opens his door.

(+)

Eddie makes Richie feel smart, talking over meals and kicking each other underneath the table.

Richie speaks poorly of his wife and cherishes every second spent with Eddie.

Eddie bites his nails less when he is pressed close to Richie.

There are nights Eddie stays up waiting for the call that doesn’t come. Sometimes, Eddie does not open his door. 

(-)

She catches them, in the den. Eddie never comes over to Richie’s, but she was supposed to be out of town visiting her sister with the kid. He wasn’t going to stay long. It felt like a foolproof plan.

Richie had pulled Eddie into the home, excitedly, not even bothered by Eddie flipping down all photos of the wife or son they pass. In the den, they kiss, as lovers do, Eddie’s hands pressed to the sides of Richie’s neck in an almost loving embrace, and Richie’s hand on Eddie’s ass. It feels perfect, like they were meant to be in the comfort of Richie’s own home, where they do not have to be scared of Eddie’s neighbors or the kind of people who go to gay bars to do mean things, as Eddie once so delicately put it.

Then  _ she  _ walked in, the wife, crying and screaming and throwing things at Richie’s head.

Eddie left without a word to Richie or an apology to his wife or a hello to his son. The wife throws a photo at the door that Eddie slams shut behind him.

(+)

In the morning, over breakfast, she begs him to stay. To stay with Eddie, if he wants, but stay with her too.

Oh, he wants. But he also  _ needs _ . He needs Eddie’s touch and comfort and fights and love and affection.

The couple drink their tea, Eddie on both of their minds.

(-)

Richie knocks on the door, unsure if it will be opened. 

He is greeted with radio silence, just the sound of someone watching TV a few apartments down. “Come on, Eddie,” Richie pleads, knocking again. “I left her.”

The animal in his stomach writhes at the thought. He left her. And the kid. For Eddie. For a man.

_ Thunk _ . Richie bumps his head against the door, imagining Eddie doing the same on the other side.

“Please,” Rich pleads, like he did with his wife just an hour or so before. “Please.”

(+)

The door opens.

(=)

Eddie looks surprisingly well kept, his hair neat and shirt buttoned up to his throat and jeans high. His arms are folded and his chin is high, like the first time they met.

Richie falls in love all over again.

Stepping to the side, Eddie lets his lover in.

“I love you,” says Richie, not for the first time.

They do not even make it to the bed before Eddie is getting onto his knees and Richie is unbuckling his belt.

Eddie isn’t even trying to shut him up this time, Richie thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: allahlav
> 
> any scene with eddie and richie is based off of whizzer going down from in trousers. the scene where the wife catches them is a reference to 'im breaking down' from both in trousers and falsettos. the brief scene between richie and his wife is based off of 'a breakfast over sugar'.


End file.
